Part Two | Pain & Fire
Twenty. I'm Here
Eight weeks, one day, and seventeen hours.
Eight weeks, one day, and seventeen hours.
Eight weeks, one day, and seventeen hours.
It wasn't exactly imminent, per se, she internally deliberated, but it was far, far sooner than she would have liked; eight weeks, one day, and seventeen hours too soon, to be exact.
No! "No!" Pansy cried, aloud this time to no one in particular. Her eyes drifted over the untidy scribble of words strewn across the parchment she was holding. The shaking of her hands, coupled with the pools of tears that had collected in the direct window of her sight had made reading significantly trickier. Not that it mattered, the note's image was now etched, possibly forever, within her brain,. Her eyes closed and her tears fell, burning into her mind's eye.
Pansy,
I checked with Sev, he says your Christmas holiday starts December the 19th. We are busy around that time but I have some free time on the afternoon of the 21st - around 4. It would please me to see you then - I will have the whole night free.
Rab
Pansy shuddered and flinched when a pair of strong hands gripped her upper arms. Her mind immediately drifted to the face of Rabastan Lestrange at the touch, and she saw, with a gasp, the cold, dark eyes that he used to leer at her so brazenly.
In an instant, she needed to free herself from his tightening grasp, and his cries of Pansy, Pansy, Pansy. She hated the way he spoke her name, and more so now, knowing it was the same voice used to torture all those years ago, the same voice that continued to torture, to kill, to do Voldemort's bidding now. And so she fought, and she struggled, clawing at every inch of him she could reach, until finally she was able to sink her teeth into what she could only presume was a shoulder. He let her go with a howl, and a sharp What the absolute fuck, Pansy!? that was so decidedly un-Rabastan-like, that Pansy stopped, a swift moment of realisation washing over her; it was un-Rabastan-like, because Rabastan wasn't there. The one who was there, however... Oh, no!
Her eyes snapped open and a strange, somewhat distorted view met her eyes. It took a moment for Pansy to acknowledge that that her living room hadn't suddenly tipped sideways, and that she had, at some point unbeknownst to her, fallen over. Draco, it seemed, had gone down with, or maybe because of, her..
He was sitting slightly across from her current position, cradling his right arm in his left, and a look plastered across his pale face that made Pansy gulp.
"You fucking bit me!"
Pansy didn't respond immediately, instead remaining entirely still as she blinked at Draco's furious expression. She had bitten him, why on earth had she bitten him? She had very little answer or defense of it; the grey eyes that were growing narrower by the second, however, were demanding she give them just that. Pansy swallowed as her gaze dropped to the floor.
"I thought you were him," she said, her voice small.
"Lestrange?" Draco answered, clearly stunned, but his voice was already softer, calmer than it was a moment ago.
Pansy nodded sheepishly, her cheeks flooding with the warmth of her embarrassment. She examined the carpet, unwilling to look at him, and began wringing her hands together; a childhood habit that had followed and found her in all the moments she felt most embarrassed or stung.
Draco didn't speak, and remained in his position on the floor. It was only when Pansy finally found it within herself to look up at him, did he move. The wizard crawled awkwardly to her, not breaking their collective stare until he was near enough to touch her. Shifting positions so he was on his feet at a crouch, Draco opened his arms wide, a small, comforting twitch pulling at the left corner of his mouth.
"Come here."
His embrace was, as always, firm yet soft, and in many ways felt like home. He guided them upright as he held her, murmuring soft affirmations in her ear. "You're safe," she heard him whisper. "I'm here, it's just me, it's just Draco."
"I'm sorry I bit you," Pansy muttered, her voice obscured as she fought back the tears that threatened to spill once more. A clink of crockery drew both of their attentions.
"Miss Pansy! It is most definitely not appropriate to bite Master Draco, especially after spending the evening with your mate," Winky stated, her voice firm, yet matter-of-fact, as though scolding humans for biting one another was an everyday occurrence for a House Elf.
"Oh, Merlin. No, Winky, not like that, don't worry," Pansy mumbled, breaking she and Draco's hug and moving towards the couch, eyes focussed entirely on the tray of food Winky was carrying and refusing to look at the elf.
Setting a tray of a variety of dishes on the coffee table, Winky it appeared, had not finished accosting Pansy. "Lovely boy, that one, Miss Pansy. You will want to keep that one, he treats House Elves very well. Dobby agrees, you see, Miss Pansy. Dobby tells me all about the boy, and I know that he certainly," her large eyes now swivelling towards Draco, "would never pick us up by our ears."
"That was one time, Winky!"
Neither spoke in the time it took them to eat the multitude of dishes that Winky had brought. Realistically, there would have been enough to feed around four grown adults, however, due to the ravishing hunger both Pansy and Draco had felt, the plates were cleared in their entirety.
Pansy sat back, her head coming to rest against the soft cushion of the sofa. Her limbs were tingling with the tiredness that was suddenly filling her body, only increasing as the large, warm meal settled in her stomach. Looking over at Draco, she realised he had been watching her silently, with an unreadable nonchalant expression, his steely eyes looking calm as they regarded her.
"You okay?" he asked, when she hadn't spoke.
"I really don't know," Pansy replied, with as much honesty as her heart allowed her to muster.
Draco nodded in response, but didn't speak right away. He continued to watch her quietly, although Pansy would have bet a lot of gold that beneath the surface of his silvery blond head, his thoughts were racing, and busy, saying a thousand things he wasn't prepared to say out loud.
"What are you thinking about?" Pansy asked, finally, unable to bear the silence any longer.
Draco did not immediately respond, choosing to remain in the exasperating silence for a few minutes longer, before sighing. Pansy noticed his brow taking on its characteristic furrow, something that despite its often association with bad news, was so unbelievably Draco-esque, that the rush of familiarity she felt upon seeing it was a strange sort of comfort.
"I need you to know, Pans, that whatever it takes, I'll do my best to keep you safe... get you out of this, here, if I need to," he said, his voice rushed but remained steady.
"Out of here? I can't get out of here, where would I go? And I couldn't leave you here, dealing with it all on your own," Pansy answered. A wave of panic had washed over her at his words, how, or where, could she go?
"It doesn't matter, we don't need to worry about it quite yet, but I just need you to know that, okay?"
It was Pansy's turn to not answer straight away. She looked at his pale, skinny face; he looked positively awful. Pansy swallowed hard, her green eyes looking deep into his grey, and with a rush of relief she hadn't even known she realised that the gaunt sallowness that had taken over Draco's features did not appear to have taken the thunderstorm-like energy that lay in his eyes.
He's still there.
"Okay."
"So, no grotesque details please, that would be a lot of food to have to throw up, how was the patrol?"
Pansy let out a deep breath.
"Tell me you did not just sigh over Neville Longbottom?" Draco interjected, cutting off the words Pansy had yet to speak.
"I did not just sigh over anybody," Pansy replied, abashed.
"Uh huh, pull the other one, you'll be batting your eyelashes next," Draco said, his eyes rolling so far back Pansy found herself wondering for a split second whether they would end up permanently facing into his brain. Idiot.
"It was...good," Pansy said, not entirely sure how much she should, or even wanted to tell Draco. It was times like this that Daphne was entirely the superior choice between the two.
"Are you a proper…" he paused, clearly contemplating his wording, "thing now, then?"
Pansy realised all of a sudden that her heart was pounding fast in her ears when faced with the task of answering such a simple question. She was now full of an anxious panic; as though her biggest, most overwhelming fear over Neville had suddenly jumped up and slapped her clean across the face with a dose of unwanted reality.
"I...I think so," she stammered, bringing her right hand up to her mouth, rubbing her middle finger side to side over her bottom lip as she tried to find an appropriate way to word her concerns to Draco. "I just don't...get… Draco, what the hell does he want me for?" she finished, the words tumbling in such a rush, it was as though each was chasing the one in front.
"I know you like to think of yourself as just a massive bitch, and you are, don't get me wrong-"
Oh, well thank you very much.
"-but you do have a few redeeming qualities that could be seen as endearing," Draco said, the hint of a smirk now present on his face.
"He's so fucking good, Draco."
"And you aren't?"
"No, not like that. Not like him," Pansy said, her heart heavy. "He fucking cares. I don't care."
"You don't care?"
"Nope."
"So, you made me eat a bloody banquet for nothing?"
"It's not the same, he's… he's…risking so much."
"You don't think you're risking anything?"
"Of course I am!" Pansy snapped, infuriated by the way Draco turned every one of her points on its head. She was Pansy Parkinson, for Merlin's sake, and he was Neville Longbottom, incomparable. "But that doesn't mean that he isn't doing more, does it?" she ended, with a shout.
"You are such a stubborn cow, Pansy, do you know that?" Draco shot back.
"What the fuck is your problem, Draco?!"
"You! You infuriating wench! I just wish for once that you'd realise you aren't any less deserving of happiness than anyone-fucking-else. You'll make up any and every excuse to remain the bloody Queen Bitch of Slytherin, not letting anyone but me, or Daphne, and sometimes not even us, in." Pansy flinched, as though Draco had slapped her. She felt as though all the blood was draining from her head. "Have you seen the way he fucking looks at you? Have you?" Draco demanded.
"I don't-"
"He's falling in love with you, Pansy, you tit!"
"That's ridiculous."
"You're not wrong there, but that doesn't make it any less true, and what's more I can see you feel the same about him. Neither of you are as subtle as you seem to think you are." Draco's arms were flailing in exasperation as he spoke. "Why the hell can you not understand? It doesn't matter who has done more bloody good than the other, because you are both good. It's not a competition. What he sees in you, and you see in him isn't important!"
Pansy's eyes were narrowed, she daren't admit that Draco could possibly be right. Instead doing what she did best, she countered the point he'd made she was most annoyed about. "I am not falling-"
"Don't you fucking dare deny it!"
Pansy let out a humf of annoyance. "I hate you."
"No, you hate that I can see you through like a fucking window."
"I'm going to bed," Pansy replied, haughtily, standing.
"Enjoy dreaming about Longbottom," Draco replied, considerably calmer, a small smirk upon his face once more.
"I will!" Pansy cried, before stomping to the door and alighting the stairs.
Pansy awoke the next morning with a jolt. The clock on her bedside table showed it was just twenty-five to seven, which, considering it was a Saturday, was certainly not optimal. Her slumber had been fitful at best, and Pansy stared at the ceiling, reliving an array of dreams. None of them made sense, but all of them, she was fairly certain, were fuelled by the thought of one of two people. One light and one dark. One everything she wanted, and one she wanted nothing to do with. One, who had managed, the previous night, to make her happier than she remembered, and one, who had achieved, the same night, the exact opposite.
She sighed, stretching her arms above her head as she deliberated both sides to her current situation. As complicated as they were before, both seemed infinitely more complex now, and where the mere memory of Neville's touch was enough to elicit a shiver of goosebumps over her neck; the image of Rabastan's note could warp her elation into an unforgiving panic in a fleeting second.
Pansy walked down the staircase that led to the living room ten minutes later, a cocktail of exhaustion, numbness, and uncertainty swirling through her. It was as though it lingered in the very air she breathed; her own personal brand of metaphoric dark cloud.
Neither Pansy nor Draco had mentioned Rabastan, the note, or the glaring problems that went along with them again the previous evening. Luckily, reliving the last few hours she'd shared with Neville provided enough distraction from the ominous complication for Pansy to somewhat relax. The three large measures of firewhisky she'd allowed him to pour her had probably helped in that department also. She realised with a groan that permitting Draco to resume his consumption of the firewhisky she had initially confiscated upon her arrival back to the head's dorm, had probably been unwise.
The door to the living room was open and Pansy became aware of the presence of a moving something, or rather more apt, a moving someone, inside as she approached the ajar door. The someone in question was somewhat hidden behind the sofa as Pansy entered. The soft flop of a large pair of bunny-esq ears, along with a quiet, shanty-like humming, were the only clues Pansy needed to deduce that Winky was currently in the middle of her early-morning clean.
Not wishing to startle the elf, Pansy cleared her throat as she moved towards the faded couch, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as Winky's gaze swivelled to meet Pansy's pale face.
"Mistress Pansy, Winky was not expecting to see your, or," Winky's head turned to face the staircase, her large eyes narrowing, "him, until much later."
Pansy tried, and failed, to stifle a small giggle. "I wasn't aware House Elves were allowed to talk of the ones they have been instructed to serve in that way, Winky."
Winky did not immediately reply, instead she surveyed Pansy, a look of derision clouded her small face. She smiled, or rather, her mouth twisted into something of a semblance of a smile, her bug-like eyes remained steely, and, Pansy realised, rather cunning. You'd definitely be a Slytherin
"Winky will refer to him as such when he begins to heed Winky's advice about his bad habits. Winky knows, you see Miss Pansy," the elf said, walking around the sofa, until she was eventually level to the aptly-listening Pansy, "Winky knows because Winky once almost lost herself behind the bottle, it was a dark time for Winky, Miss."
Pansy swallowed hard at Winky's words; she had certainly never heard of a House Elf succumbing to alcoholism. She could see the effects drinking was having on Draco, and her thoughts momentarily drifted to the permanent dark circles almost always present beneath the eyes of her former lover, and the gaunt, ill look he now had plastered over his pointed features. It was tough, to see one of her friends in the state Draco was in, but it felt worse, harsher somehow, to think of a being as small and frail-looking as a House-Elf, and certainly when it was a House-Elf she'd become more than fond since they'd met, dealing with the difficulty of addiction.
"I had no idea, Winky, but I'm very glad you managed to overcome it," Pansy replied, a pang of pride gripping her heart as she looked into the eyes of the small elf.
"You are kind, Miss Pansy, not many here see it, but I do, and he does too,"
"Draco?"
"Nooo," Winky hissed, her voice low, "the other he, hmmm..."
Pansy bit the inside of her cheek, she hoped, no - she knew, Winky was right, Neville could see the good in her that the rest of the school couldn't, and wouldn't. But how could he ever deal with the terrible situation she shared with Rabastan Lestrange, who was part of the very reason that Neville was able to empathise with Pansy's childhood.
"The bad man troubles Mistress," Winky said, sadly, in response to Pansy's silence. For the second time, Pansy didn't answer, instead nodding briefly as a hollow something resided itself in her chest.
"Miss Pansy must not let the bad man take the happiness she shares with the kind boy, the good boy. Miss Pansy must find a way to flee the darkness. Winky sees it, the kind boy has darkness too, he needs Miss Pansy just as she needs him."
"Winky," Pansy began, unable to stop a sob from choking her words as she did. "The bad man is the reason that Neville has darkness," she finished, unable to say anything further as fear and heartache ripped at the very fibre of her being.
Pansy was aware of very little as she cried, but sometime later, she would come to realise a few heartwarming truths that existed in her sea of uncertainty; the small elf who she'd opened her heart to had levitated Pansy's bedclothes downstairs, lay her head down to rest, and refused to leave the sobbing witch until her racked cries finally subsided as the exhaustion she'd fought, ultimately won.